


some things buried deep need to stay that way

by angelsaves



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s01e10 The Blue Cross, Fever Dreams, M/M, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 11:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14307381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves
Summary: Flambeau escapes, and finds a measure of grace. (See end notes if you're nervous.)





	some things buried deep need to stay that way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mardia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/gifts).



Flambeau swims. He gets shot -- fiery blaze of pain streaking up his right leg -- and he swims. His lungs burn with used air, and still, he swims.

Eventually, he is forced to come up to breathe, the darkness thick around him as he gasps, taking in great gulps of fresh air. He's gone quite a ways: the lights of the town are distant and pale, and there are no gunshots anymore.

Flambeau swims and swims, and at last, he comes to a small, apparently abandoned hut. It will do; it will have to do, for he is losing blood rapidly. He drags himself out of the water, sodden and wounded, and crawls through the open doorway.

Inside, he finds a shirt left over a chair's back and uses it to bind his leg, then collapses on the cot by the fireplace. He hasn't the energy to light a fire in it, but perhaps a rest will do him good. Flambeau wraps himself in the musty blankets, closes his eyes, and falls asleep.

***

"Flambeau. _Flambeau._ " The voice is urgent and familiar. "Flambeau, you've got to wake up."

It's Father Brown. Flambeau opens his eyes and sees the man himself: flushed in the face, lit from behind so that his mussed ginger hair glows like a halo. "Father, forgive me, for I have sinned," he slurs against the rising tide of fever. "It has been... not too long since my last confession, but I'm afraid I've been terribly naughty."

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" the good priest says, getting comfortable next to Flambeau's head. "What have you been up to?"

"We discussed my thievery," Flambeau says, letting his eyes drift shut, "but not my sins of the flesh."

"No," Father Brown agrees, "we didn't get to those, did we?" He strokes the hair from Flambeau's brow with one cool, competent hand. "What would you like to tell me?"

"I have lusted, I'm afraid." It's easy to tell the darkness behind his eyelids. "A great deal of lust, and, of course, the accompanying self-abuse."

"It's not uncommon," says Father brown, a wry bit of understatement. "In my view, there are many worse sins."

"Oh, but the one for whom I burn is a man," Flambeau tells him, and when Father Brown begins to speak, cuts him off by adding, "a man of the cloth."

He expects revulsion, withdrawal at best. He gets neither. "That must be quite difficult," says Father Brown, his voice soft. "Would you like to tell me more?"

"I have no interest in most people," Flambeau says. "They pose no challenge."

"It is the thrill of the chase, then, that you find appealing?" There is no judgment in his calm voice.

"Yes," Flambeau says, "and no."

"Go on?" A request, not a demand.

"He is... compelling." Flambeau considers his words. "Captivating, even. His mind is quick, and he has a sense of honor I find sorely lacking in most of his profession."

Father Brown makes a soft noise, more breath than laugh. "A worthy adversary?"

"I would..." Flambeau's throat catches. He swallows and tries to wet his dry lips. "I would have him as a partner."

"A partner," Father Brown repeats. "In crime?"

"I doubt he would accept such an offer... nor any other I might wish to make him."

Flambeau breathes into the silence until Father Brown breaks it: "He might surprise you."

He turns his head and opens his eyes to see Father Brown looking steadily back at him. All he can think to say is, "Might he?"

Father Brown tilts Flambeau's chin with two fingers. "Yes," he says, and leans down to meet Flambeau's eager mouth.

The kiss is sweet, tender -- and just as Flambeau starts to think that this is not quite right, Father Brown shifts, deepening it, devouring him. "Oh, God," Flambeau says, and other, more blasphemous things, as Father Brown swings one leg over him, pressing them urgently together.

"Not such a celibate fool, then, am I?" he asks, breath hot and damp under Flambeau's ear.

"Perhaps -- perhaps not," Flambeau manages to say, near to coming just from this, through his pants and trousers and Father Brown's cassock and -- whatever priests keep under their cassocks, he thinks wildly.

"My lovely thief," Father Brown says, stroking the side of Flambeau's hot face. "What do you wish of me?"

"Everything, everything," Flambeau says, desperate. "Kiss me again, Father."

Father Brown does, with little expertise but a great deal of enthusiasm, and his hips grind down instinctively. The gasp he makes into Flambeau's mouth is delicious.

"Surely this isn't the first time you've -- you weren't born a priest," Flambeau says, pressing further kisses to the softness of Father Brown's jaw.

"No, not born." Father Brown kisses him again, deep and searching. "Not a great deal of -- experimentation, however."

"We've time," Flambeau says.

"Have we?" More kisses -- more sweet pressure -- and Father Brown pulls back. "Tell me what you want of me."

"Oh, Father," he says. "Such a great deal." Flambeau pushes him aside, gets out of bed, and kneels on the floor.

"Surely not --" Father Brown begins, turning to face him.

"Surely so," Flambeau corrects him, parting the cassock and finding beneath it a perfectly ordinary pair of trousers. These he undoes, and releases what he wants from their confines. "Has anyone ever done this for you, Father?"

"No," Father Brown says, but he doesn't protest further, only looks at Flambeau with a sort of wonder.

Flambeau is aware of the picture he makes, on his knees, mouth open around the head of the good Father's cock; he keeps his eyes open and enjoys being appreciated.

"Oh," Father Brown says, and caresses Flambeau's face, his thumb touching the corner of Flambeau's mouth, where it stretches around the impressive girth of his cock. "Oh, Flambeau --"

"Mmm," Flambeau agrees, swallowing around it, feeling the minute twitches of pleasure under his lips and hands. It isn't long, a few glorious sucks, before Father Brown's fingers clutch at his hair, and he says, "Oh -- _oh_ \--" and spends into Flambeau's waiting throat.

When he's done, he leans down and kisses Flambeau with all the suppressed ardor of -- well, a not-so-celibate not-at-all-a-fool. "May I return the favor?" he asks graciously.

"No," Flambeau says, wrapping his hand around his own cock and stripping it roughly. "Father -- just --"

Knowing his shameful desires -- knowing _him_ \-- Father Brown places one hand gently on top of Flambeau's head.

"Absolve me," Flambeau begs, jerking himself furiously, gazing up at the priest, and his vision goes blindingly white.

***

When Flambeau wakes, alone, the fever has broken, and he feels well enough to build a fire. It is, perhaps, another sort of blessing.

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S A DREAM. I'M STILL GOING TO HELL, BUT IT'S A FEVER DREAM!!!


End file.
